


Otho's day off.

by Dhole



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 07:02:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5903200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dhole/pseuds/Dhole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Arena Guardian takes a day off, hoping his replacement can keep the peace in his absence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Otho's day off.

“How bad is it...” The Guardian croaked, his eyes on now focused on Siri.

She clicked off the torch, before placing it down beside a range of other 'Legion' tools. “It looks like strep throat. Have you been sleeping well, Otho?” Siri asked him, though she knew just how sporadic this man's sleeping schedule was. Often the woman would see him standing outside his assigned post, even in the dead of night. His form only made out through the nearby fires that littered the Fort. Truly a man dedicated to his work. Siri went to the back of the large tent, accessing her various herbal remedies. It frustrated her, she knew what he needed was bed rest and plenty of fluids. The Legion never had sick days, though. They were simply told to carry on, regardless of their severity of their condition. “You should take time to rest. Drink plenty of hot drinks, I know you are fond of those.” She said, glancing over her shoulder in Otho's direction. She knew of the man's coffee addiction, but that caffeine wasn't going to help him get better. “But try substituting your coffee for something less... caffeinated, you'll need the sleep.”

Otho pulled himself back his usual spot in front of the arena. His legs felt heavy, as did his head. Constantly being forewarned of what a lack of sleep did to someone, this seemed to be a huge 'I told you so'. The man dropped down onto the weapons locker, holding his aching head in his hands. The fort was not a quiet place by any means. Dogs barked, as they excitedly ambushed Antony. The screams of the Brahmin where frequent, as the men slit their throats to bleed them. The blacksmith's grinder was probably the worst of the noises the fort generated. The sound could only be described as nails down a blackboard and Otho was unfortunate enough to be stationed only a few meters away from a rather eager Blacksmith.

So absorbed in his own misery and sickness, Otho didn't take note of the person stood before him. One eye peered open, focusing on the boots. Then he looked past the legs, torso and finally meeting the gaze of Cursor Lucullus. Otho couldn't stop the irritated sigh escaping him. Lucullus was notorious for idle chit-chat, often chit chat about utter nonsense.

“May I help you, Cursor...?” Otho finally asked. It was obvious Luc wasn't going to speak first, but was desperate for conversation, given his intent, longing stare down at Otho. The man's hoarse voice took Luc by surprise, expressing the shock in his face.

“You sound awful. Are you alright?” He asked, sitting himself down beside the other. Otho didn't protest, being too damn sick to do so. 

"Some...kind of infection..Siri said.” Otho suddenly coughed violently into his hands. In response, Luc shuffled a foot away.

“It's not...contagious is it?”

“I don't know... I did not ask.”

Otho sighed, he did need sleep. But the pressing question was... Who would guard his arena if he was to take a short break? He had this terrible vision of him returning to find his arena on fire, the walls collapsing and Stella standing atop of a mountain of slain legionaries, screeching like a banshee.

“Otho?”

The guardian snapped back to reality. He blinked, before realizing it was Lucullus speaking to him again. “If you're sick...then shouldn't you be, you know, resting?” The Cursor asked, tilting his neck so his head leaned to the side. Otho scowled at the weird, almost mind reading question, but did not vocalize his surprise towards it.

“I should be...yes. But- The arena requires me... to- To supervise at all times.” He managed to wheeze, before letting out another dry, chesty cough. Lucullus again, shifted himself away from the sickly man. Otho continued to cough and splutter. Luc tried looking away, as the man couldn't seem to stop himself throwing himself forward with his hefty cough.

“What if... You got a substitute guardian...” Lucullus mumbled idly, as he pushed the dry sand around with his index finger, making trails in the ground. Otho slowly looked up from his coughing fit, struggling to get his breath back.

“A substitute? You mean...Like a temporary replacement?”  
  
“Yeah! Like how Aurelius of Phoenix puts Severus in charge when he's occupied.”

Otho considered this. He'd need to find a Legionary capable enough to the job, but not to be better than him so that they'd replace him permanently. He held his chin in thought, thinking of all the Legionaries who could be applicable for the role. Lucullus watched him for a moment, before shuffling closer once more to wait for Otho's response.

“What about Decanus Dead Sea?” Lucullus suggested, as Otho tapped his pen against the tattered note pad.

“Dead Sea is a fine Legionary, but I think he's a little too...”  
  
“Fat?”  
  
“SHHHH!!” Otho knew the Decanus was very, very touchy about his weight. You did not want to upset that man by calling his 'large frame'. “I was going... to say 'ruthless'” Otho correctly, while striking out the Decanus' name on the pad.

“I feel Dead Sea would make the men fight, but if he was not happy with the amount of blood that was spilt, he would force more people to fight... Blood is a nightmare to clean up in the arena, may I remind you.”

“Oh...” Luc replied. The Cursor started to look around the fort, inspecting every Legionary who walked by before suggesting him as a candidate for Otho. But each time Otho said no.

“No. Mars no! Look at him, he's picking his nose for goodness sake!” Otho wheezed.

“What about Vulpes?”  
  
“Yes, because the leader of our elite spies would defiantly waste his time standing around here...”

Another irritated sigh escaped Otho. He'd made his mind up, he was going to bed. “Lucullus, I'll leave you to find a replacement. All I ask if that you don't hire a damned buffoon. Vale.” With that, the man rose and wandered off in the direction of the tents. Once left alone, the cursor tapped his chin in thought. He needed someone who was not a moron, but not exactly in danger of replacing Otho. He needed some like...

The sound of a mongrel barking loudly broke his train of thought. Following the direction of the bark, he witnessed Antony, who had been pushed to the floor by his many, many mongrels. Luc grinned. He had found Otho's substitute.

 

* * *

 

“It's pretty simple.” Lucullus stated, as he lead the hounds master to the center of the arena. There were still various blood stains that remained on the ground beneath them, which Antony nervously stepped over. Lupa, who had followed the two men, simply walked right through the various blood patches. “You just wait outside during actual matches. No need to even watch!” he chimed. This was all guess work, considering the cursor had never actually witnessed Otho overseeing an arena fight. He simply assumed the man waited outside until the victor of the fight asked to be let out. That made sense, right?

“May Lupa assist me?” The man asked, bending down to scratch behind the old girl's ears.

Luc wasn't sure what Otho's policy on dogs was, but he figured it would be okay. After all, she was only going to be standing there, how much trouble could one dog cause?

“If you need any help..Uh...I'd say just go ask one of the Veterans who hang around here. They probably watch a lot of fights and will know what to do! Now I better head off, I told Decanus Alexus I'd take him across the river... And hour ago. I shouldn't keep him waiting, bye!”

Antony watched him run out of the gates and disappear down the long hill. He felt nervous, almost giddy. Perhaps there would be no fights today? He couldn't find any charts stating what fights would be happening today. With a shrug of his armoured shoulders, Antony sat himself down upon the metal box. He reached his hand over to pet Lupa, who was lounging at his feet. While his fingers run through the dog's coarse fur, two men approached him. Two huge brutes of men, both had arms like cannon balls. Neither looked particularly happy.

“Where the fuck is Otho?! I want to crush this guy's skull in the arena!”  
  
“You can't kill for shit! I'm going to decorate the arena with your guts!”

Antony stared wide eyed at the men's conflict. This was quite alien to him, as he often hung around the edge of the fort. The only squabbles he had to deal with where those his dogs would have at times. Nothing that could not be solved by putting more food down for them. Something told him the same did not apply to these two rowdy men.

“Uhm- You two want to fight? Well Otho's not here right now- But I am, I'm filling in for him!” He chirped up, quickly getting to his feet to address the two men properly. They were still far taller than him, despite Antony being stood fully upright. “Okay, Okay! Just uh, um... Go in the arena and um, fight yes!”

The two Legionaries turned their heads and stared at one another. Both held a look of utter bewilderment.

“Fight with what weapons...?” one asked, raising a brow.

“Yeah we need knives to kill!” the other one barked in response.

Antony's mind drew a blank. Where would he find machetes for the arena? The container! Perhaps Otho kept his arena tools inside that. Kneeling down, Antony went to flip open the container's lid, only to find … it was locked.

He starred. Keeping his focus on the container, not wanting to meet the stern face of the gentlemen behind him. “I... I think only Otho has the key to this.” He admitted sheepishly, still not looking at the men behind him. Antony heard an annoyed sigh emit from one of the men behind him.

“Oh fuck this! Let's go fight behind the weather station!”

The sound of the two stomping off in frustration brought relief to the hounds master. Okay, so he needed weapons. He thought of going to Otho's tent and asking for the key. But would that mean he'd have to explain just why he was bringing this up now? He didn't want to think about Otho would react to his first mistake on the job. “Okay...Weapons... Lupa! Find weapons, machetes, anything!” Antony commanded, pointing his finger in the air as he gave the order to the mutt. Lupa barked, wagged her tail excitedly before bounding off.

Thirty minutes later, Antony heard Lupa howl. She continued to howl loudly, like a sight dog that had finally found what it was sniffing for. Antony ran around the other side of the arena to greet his faithful hound. When he saw what Lupa had retrieved, he gasped in pure shock. Lupa had placed her bounty into a small pile. A pile that consisted of : a stick, two power fists, a unique looking machete and two shot guns. The guns were not of much use in the arena, even he knew the rules of the arena stated no guns to be used at any point. “But... What if I use the guns as melee weapons?” Antony asked Lupa. The dog tilted her head in response, but offered a comforting lick. “I guess I can!” He grinned, scooping the various weapons up and clutching them against his chest. Merrily taking them back to the fort. Now he could finally get the arena up and running, nothing could possibly go wrong now!

* * *

 

  The Legionary stared at the gnarled wooden stick that was given to him before the match. The concern on his face was clearly visible. His opponent, a young, scrawny slave boy was given one of the two power fists as his weapon. Antony shut the arena gate, feeling very, very proud of himself. He had just organised his first fight, with zero problems! He folded his arms smugly, sporting the biggest grin on his face. “Well Lupa, ol' girl. I knew we'd crack this arena lark!”. Lupa barked in agreement. Lupa's head then tilted, her ears perked up before he stood and started to bark more aggressively. Antony could hear shouting. Loud, angry shouting.

“Where is she?! What have you done with her?!” screeched the Decanus, slamming the blacksmith against one of the fort's rusted metal walls.

“Decanus Dead Sea please!” the man pleaded. “I left her on the bench once I'd sharpened her! I turned around and she was gone!”. Dead Sea snarled in response, slamming the terrified legionary against the wall again.

“You lost my liberator! You'll pay with your life!”

“Wow! Wow!” Antony came running over, Lupa in tow. “What's going on here? Let the man go, Decanus.”

Dead Sea barred his teeth at Antony, not wanting anyone to get involved. “He lost-” The Decanus stopped in mid sentence, his eyes now focused on the arena. Antony took note of this, his own attention focused on it also. There was a loud scream, the sound of bone snapping and flesh tearing. Before an object came hurtling out of the arena- And struck Dead Sea in the center of the head. The Decanus stumbled, let his victim go, then collapsed to the ground with a groan. The 'object', was the head of the Legionary Antony had pitted against the slave. The Blacksmith and Antony stared at the body part for a moment before Antony spoke again

“I guess the slave boy wins then...”

The boy in question, had forced open the arena door by now and began to attack a nearby Vexillarius. The flag bearer screamed in terror, desperately attempting to flee the armed man.

“You gave a slave a power fist?!” The blacksmith gasped in horror, watching the boy now punch the Vexillarius off a cliff. The flag bearer knocked over a fire barrel as he landed, various tents began to engulf in flames. The flames consumed the majority of the lower cliff level, the screams of men could heard as they were set alight.

“I guess we should have given that kid the machete Lupa found instead.” Antony sheepishly said, twiddling his thumbs.

The Blacksmith stared at him. “You stole that machete I had here didn't you?! You just nearly got me killed by this fat angry Decanus!” He snarled, waving his hand down at the unconscious Dead Sea.

Antony's lips pressed inwards.  _Oh dear._

The slave boy had punched the head's off two recruits now and was trying to punch down a crucifix a trembling scout was holed up on. The fires were desperately trying to be controlled by half of the fort's residents, allowing various slaves to quickly flee from their duties and jump the raft to freedom.

“Okay! Okay! Someone revive Dead Sea! And- And then Dead Sea can capture the punchy slave and- And- Oh god! This is a disaster, Lupa help me!” Antony cried, dropping to his knees. He grabbed the dog's head and pulled it close,desperate for it to somehow solve the madness.

“Stop!”

The voice brought a sudden stop to the madness. The slave stopped punching the cross down, even the fires seemed to suddenly go out as the recruits managed to finally get them under control. Otho stepped forward, still looking pale and groggy. He was accompanied by Atticus, the leader of the Legion safehouse. Otho then whispered into the man's ear.

“All of you! Cease your degenerate activities! Slave 459, stop terrorising that scout! Recruit 253, you cannot the fire out with your machete! Someone find that damned machete for Dead Sea and for goodness sake keep the noise down!” The Veteran barked. Everyone stared for a moment, before springing into action. Within moments, normality was resorted. Apart from slave 459, who seemed to slip out of the net.

Otho sighed, thanked Atticus before turning to Antony. His arms were folded and his facial featured stern. He wasn't happy.

“I'm sorry, Otho. I- tried.”

“Look just... return the weapons and help clean up the blood.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He wasn't sure who he was angrier at: Antony or Lucullus.

 

 

  “Take a break she said... It'll do you good she says!” Otho growled, as he began to brush sand over the fresh blood pools. Oh well, at least everything was back to normal again. Otho swore he'd never, ever take a break again. No matter what, he told himself, brushing the last clump of sand over the soiled ground. The moment he finished, he heard someone approach.

“Ah Veteran Otho! Good job handling that terrible slave break out yesterday! You should take a break, we'll see to it another veteran takes over in your absence. Perhaps we'll assign Anto-”

A loud scream erupted from the fort, causing various ravens to fly away from Fortification hill. 


End file.
